May is a month that has me walking more slowly through the woods. I pause to consider the delicate swirl of maidenhair ferns. Just to my left somewhere high in the screening foliage, a red-eyed vireo preaches celestial canons from the canopy. Someone once tallied 20,000 vireo phrases over the course of a day.

I hadn’t gone a hundred yards when I spied a doe slinking away. There was no classic bounding off with a lift of her white tail. Like a thrush that always whispers off through the underbrush, she was there and then gone. This is the second time in three days that I have seen a doe behaving like this.

Given that May is turning to June I expect to see this furtive behavior. It’s likely the does have birthed or are about to birth their fawn or fawns. Twins are not uncommon and on occasion I have seen triplets.

Newborn fawns are the best hiders. Their spotted back and flanks give the appearance of dappled sunshine and breaks their outlines. Unlike the Disney version of the doting mother of Bambi, in reality the does leave the fawn alone after the initial nursing. The tiny fawn curls up on the ground and waits until the mother returns from her feeding and watching. To prevent predators like coyotes or black bears from finding the fawn, the doe will frequently move it.

While there are gray wolves in Minnesota, ongoing research shows that coyotes, the more common canid, kill more fawns. Black bears also predate on fawns.

I remember another May day, years ago, when I watched a doe bound away from my Sunday morning stroll through a woods. I recall saying aloud, “Sorry deer. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

As the deer fled, I remember feeling grateful that I did not have to live such a diligent life on constant alert. I wondered what would it take to experience not just minutes, but hours of fear. Thankfully I’m not hunted and don’t live in a war zone.

Could I manufacture real fear? It was then that I started scheming of shedding all of my clothes and attempting to walk across the span of my home county without being seen by another human. I realized that it would require a nocturnal journey. Barefoot was out of the question; I would allow my feet to be shod. 

I wondered about food and water. Would I allow myself to steal into a darkened rural yard to drink from an outdoor faucet? No, naked I would carry a single 2 liter bottle of water.

What if I got caught? How would I explain this experiential exercise in finding fear to the police officer or deputy? At the time of my scheming, I was a father of two young daughters and getting caught would be wholly irresponsible. A charge of indecent exposure would be embarrassing and trying to explain my exercise of rendering real fear would be stumbling at best.

I even went so far as to ponder my route over a county plat map. My path would be as direct as possible while avoiding city and village boundaries and offer the darkest nighttime routes. I would walk the roadsides, watching for headlights and then like a feral cat slink quickly off the road and flatten myself in the ditch. 

Timing and a good weather forecast would be essential. A cool rain or a frosty night could invite hypothermia. Beating the mosquito hatch or the worst of ticks would also be factors in my tramp with fear.

My wife, Miss Nancy, would have to be my accomplice in dropping me off at the county line under the cover of darkness. Without a cell phone or any means of communicating we would have to settle on a predetermined destination with several potential times to check for my finishing the trek. My clock would be the rise and fall of the sun.

I wondered about the moment of the surreptitious pick-up. Would I dress first? Or would I guzzle water or devour her gift of food?

Allowing myself to write this fantasy of keeping company with fear is enough. Instead I will keep watch over the following weeks for a spotted fawn accompanying its mother as it learns to avoid the likes of humans and predators.

Friend Duane Lee took this photo on June 1.